Tag Archives: hooker

The day I found out my girlfriend was a drug addicted prostitute

yeahbaby

I joke around a lot here at Drunk and Jobless, but I’ve had my fair share of sad and fucked up events. One that stands out is the day I found out a pretty lady I was seeing fucked dudes for money… and was apparently very good at it.

The first time we talked was on a Friday afternoon, three or so years ago, when I was working through lunch interviewing girls for a classy magazine called 100% Home Girls. Her photos showed she was hot as hell, and when we talked on the phone she was funny and smart. In eight years of working for porn magazines, I only once got in touch with a girl after calling here, and this was that time.

I sent her a message on Facebook a day later, and she got back to me while I was getting epically drunk at some shit nightclub I don’t remember the name of. I ended up calling her at about 4am, we talked for a few hours, and agreed to meet up in Sydney the next night. I couldn’t believe my luck.

This girl was everything I wanted, physically – I like small girls with long dark hair, and it’s up for debate whether that’s a throwback to a girl I once promised to marry, or something to do with my mother, which is a possibility due to all the weird issues I have with women. She was as beautiful as anyone you would ever hope to meet in a lifetime, the sort of girl who could make your day by just walking by, and she was with me.

We only saw each other a few times, but I fell like a tonne of bricks. She was sometimes hard to get a hold of, but when I was able to spend time with her, I was fucking stoked. I thought it was weird that she always had two phones on her, took Xanax, didn’t really have a place to live.

One afternoon she told me she wanted to go to the zoo, so I organised it for the next day. I organised food and meeting times, went to bed early, even if it was a little hard to sleep. I woke up before me alarm hit, and headed down to Sydney, then fronted up outside her place. I rung the bell, and waited.

And waited, and waited. I called her phone, but nothing. I sat in the street with my little bag full of sandwiches and drinks, and after an hour or so, I went back to the train station and headed home. I ate my sandwich while the world passed by, and that was that.

I spent the afternoon at the pub, and after 10 or so beers, the girl sent me a message. She apologised for standing me up, and said she had something to tell me that might change the way I felt about her. I might be stupid, and completely naive when it comes to women, but I knew what she was going to say.

She told me she was a prostitute, and was working to pay for a methamphetamine habit. The night before we’d agreed to go to th zoo, she was fucking some dude all night, fucked off her head on drugs, unable to sleep because she had some married man’s mongrel inide her. She’d fallen asleep around the time I was rocking up at her place. I went out that night, got drunk enough that I passed out in a bush.

It was hard times after that. I was embarrassed, I felt fucking stupid for not noticing the obvious signs. A while ago I wrote a book called Red, White and Bruce that nobody bothered to read, and it was about a handsome journalist (who could possibly be the inspiration for that?) who fell in love girl with a girl who turned out to be a hooker. Read it, it’s good. And then this came along, with almost the same narrative.

I cut off contact immediately. I was so sad that this girl, who I saw as smart and talented and funny, only saw herself as a pussy that could make money. I was sad that old men fucked her and only saw someone who wasn’t their wife. I saw a lot in her and valued what she believed in, thought it was the best thing in the world that she wanted to spend time with me. I went on a website where dickheads review the prostitutes they’ve fucked and read stories about old men coming on her face. She cost $650 an hour. It was fucked.

Thankfully, I never fucked her, or I would have had to cut off my penis and throw it in a fire. So, basically, I was one of the few dudes who wasn’t banging the girl I was seeing. That makes me feel like a fucking man.

As some consolation, I was seeing a former gymnast at the same time, and she also rates as one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever been with. Sometimes, when I’m drunk, I look them both up on Facebook and reminisce on the time I was seeing two women so hot I almost had to wear gloves to hold them. And then I think about how they’re both living happy lives without me, so I go and play some PlayStation.

Why I travel alone (or, how I unwittingly became involved in sex tourism)

snake

Apart from swimming with a three-metre-long python, not a lot happened today (afterwards, I joked to a French girl that it wasn’t the biggest python on the island, and she told me to leave here alone. The French, hey? Can’t live with ’em, can’t go back in time and let the Germans take their country). The weather has been silly here in Meno, meaning that sitting on my balcony and reading a book has been the best option. Yes, I know, what happened to that dude who used to spew on bouncers in Manchester and get into street fights in San Diego? I’m here to relax, motherfuckers, so I thought I’d share the story of why I like to travel alone.

Back in 2010 I was (counts fingers) 27, poor as shit, and had never been outside of Australia. I received a small amount of money for writing stories about women who are allergic to clothes, and decided to spend it on a short holiday to the rarely-visited land of Thailand. Too scared to go by myself, I somehow ended up  organising to go with a chum from high school, who I hadn’t seen for around 11 years. We’ll call him Pencil, for no reason other than I would laugh my arse off if I ever met someone who was actually named Pencil.

You can already see this isn’t gunna end well, right?

So I carefully picked out a hotel to stay in at the far-flung, off-the-beaten-track town of Patong, and we headed off. When we got there my eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and we headed out into the town to see what was going on. I rarely had a Chang out of my hand (I mean the beer; I wasn’t holding hands with a Chinese man) as we weaved our way through the streets, so I believed, without direction.

It wasn’t without direction. Before long I was sitting on a stool in a grubby bar at the end of a dark street, and every girl there was a hooker. And not good-looking ones, either. They were well-worn, lacking in the tooth department and not necessarily 100 per cent female. I didn’t know where we were, but Pencil did. He’d researched it beforehand, and within three hours of landing he had himself a prostitute for the tidy sum of $40.

So that was it for my interaction with Pencil. He didn’t want to see Thailand, he wanted to fuck sluts. He needed the room for the night, so I went out and got on the sauce till 6am, riding around on the back of bikes and flashing my dick to girls in clubs in a desperate attempt to impress them. Then I got beaten up by three ladyboys. When i finally got back to the room, Pencil was still porking his prossie, so I buried my head under my pillow and cried myself to sleep. When he asked me to film his pop shot, I gave up and went for a swim. I still have nightmares about that.

He kept her for the next week. So here’s me, wide-eyed and ready to explore the world after getting out of the closest thing I’ve ever had to a long-term relationship, and I’m sharing a room with a fucking street walking southeast Asian prostitute. And when we flew to Koh Samui and Bangkok, Pencil missed his call girl so much he just slept the days away. So there I was, far from home, and forced to do everything by myself. it was fucking scary, and I wanted to toss it all in and run home on more than one occasion. But, after a while, I realised it wasn’t too bad. I enjoyed not having to rely upon other people. I had great times, met some lovely women (who didn’t ask me to pay. Well, one did, and she’s one of the hottest women I have ever met, but I wished her a good night and stumbled away), and grew as a person. I didn’t think I could do it, but I could.

I was a bit upset, however, that Pencil didn’t offer me a go. I didn’t want one, but it’s just good manners. It’s like going over to a mate’s house with a case of beer and not offering him one.

So, from then on, it’s just been me. It means I can go where I want, spend as long as I want to there and do what I want. Does it get lonely sometimes? Sure. There’s not a situation in the world that can’t be improved by having a pretty girl there. But I’ve met people I never would have if I was with someone else, and I’ve found out things about myself while sitting on deserted beaches or hanging out in cities of 25 million that I never would have if I was tied to another person.

But I still haven’t grown up.

moon